When I think about myself I'd like to remember my essence. To remember the pain my own mind used to assign to my body. When I think of myself I would, do, think less about was, so much more about now. Chose to see through my eyes the world around, letting go of looking down, eyes up and open, afloat sea sun vibrates the vertebrae of eyelids. Open, look up out out see clearly remember to forget about yourself to truly see. Remember her, you, this, always is changing perpetual motion fluid body, temporal body, precious body to accept the gift of holding such a miraculous spirit. Remember to never forget who you truly where, who you truly are, will, be. 

How am I truly measured? In my capacity to give and receive love, my grace, my sorrow, my creative cognizance of all that I am so connected to and cannot even comprehend so much more in any measurable way, never forgetting her words and her sorrow, I listened and she knows now what I have found. 

Our truth. Our truth isn't reflected. It is emanated and I praise my own battlefield ruins for their valiant efforts. Put a blanket around cold memories and leave no tribute because salvation and reconciliation take no form here. No form yet form still says no to something and something isn't nothing and weight is something and she was so terrified of everything within herself she saw. Blindness needed a rationalization so she closed her heart to the open eyes of her inner self and taped shut the lips, the words could not be heard for a long time. The truth of their power and the power of their truth proved wrong by others own projected realities called hers too blinding. The light never bothered her, her light bothered them and they asked for darkness so absolute the solidity of it weighed so heavy she didn't, couldn't, see her own strength anymore. It was the weight of the truth she was so confused by, because so many convinced her it was too heavy. She had never had a problem with carrying it but found a solution to lessen the burden. Recede yourself and too will the weight of your truth lighten. 

And it did because she called it by a different name, those same names she called herself and those same names the memories called her and so it all lost the gravity of its own connection to acceptance. Weightless. Weightlessness is not real. The weight of self-hatred and that reflection are not worth carrying anymore and the constructs of overwhelm can be broken down to destroy the false conceptions that any burden is asking to be carried simply by virtue of existence. She was told to shrink. To shrink her own validity translated to shrinking the proof positive vessel of that same expression. Creativity called itself fucked up and danced around the curtain hidings own lies so dynamically re-named and misaligned. Gravity called itself the definition of her capacity to please others and she convinced herself gravity told her the truth when her lies had called gravity's redefining absolute. Vertigo affliction real close to life. 

Caustic sunlight on those newly opened eyes burns, open gently again and again and again. Stop taking the old solutions for avoiding life with you. Stop fearing what you are. Stop despising who you were. Love her, start accepting her, teach her to accept who she is and hold her hand with the childs' and call them all your best spiritual guides. 

Know them. 

Grieve for the solace that physical space shaped your safe space solitude into, grieve for the confusion of her. Praise the beauty of her creativity, love her for it and know the shift now is is not letting go of that which does not accept itself, letting go of hoping false solutions can solve any problems.

Fill up this empty space with words scribbled in written clear cut and without boundaries, all boundaries without bounds and see the simple parallel between filling all this empty space as the beauty of black and white turning gray loving its own presence accepting its own simplicity, expanding its own being, essence. 

Being nothing more.

And nothing less.